


don't ask me what I want

by Elenothar



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, leads up to Rogue Nation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve hours later, when Luther informs him that he’s hacked a Russian satellite without authorisation, Ethan is hanging off the side of a rapidly rising A400 Airbus, and Benji completely fails to understand the basic concept of what constitutes a door as opposed to, say, a <em>loading ramp</em>, Will wonders why he even bothered trying.</p><p>(Pre Rogue Nation)</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't ask me what I want

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw Rogue Nation, which rekindled major Brandt feels, so have a short fic? This is my first contribution to the fandom, so hopefully I didn't mess anything up too badly.

 

-

William Brandt takes a deep breath, already knowing that this isn’t going to go over well.

“I’m not going back into the field, Ethan.”

Ethan raises a silent eyebrow, jaw clenching in that standoffish way that that means he’s already digging in his metaphorical heels, and folds his arms over his chest.

“You are not?” he says blandly, and Will almost winces. Bland Ethan is bad news.

“I’m not,” he agrees. “I’m needed here.”

“You’re needed on our _team_ ,” Ethan shoots back, the slight emphasis on ‘team’ a somewhat unsubtle barb that nevertheless doesn’t fail to hit its mark. “We’re already short-staffed with Jane recalled.”

Will sighs. This is exactly how he expected this talk to go, not that that makes any of this any better. “I know, Ethan, but our command structure is a mess. We haven’t recovered from the Secretary’s death _and_ the disavowal after Russia, and I’m still officially Chief Analyst. That makes me the highest ranking IMF officer currently in D.C.”

Ethan still looks mutinous, but motions him to go on.

“I wouldn’t mind that so much, but” – Will shrugs – “frankly, I’m also the most competent one. We need someone to hold the line at home while our agents continue business as usual, and it looks like that someone is going to be me.”

Ethan scowls. “You are an excellent field agent as well, Brandt. We could use you.”

But Will shakes his head. “You don’t need me out in the field as much as I’m needed here, Ethan. I’m sorry.”

He runs a hand through his short, spiky hair, wishing that he could say something else, make a different choice. Will is a good analyst, a great one even, between his memory and strategic aptitude, but he _enjoys_ field work more. There is a reason he was an agent first and an analyst second, after Croatia and all its consequences.

“Did you know I was recruited to the IMF for an analyst position?” he asks abruptly.

Ethan cocks his head, a small motion, that no doubt deliberately allows Will to glimpse his surprise and curiosity at the change of topic.

“Any IMF personnel has to go through basic, even analysts. Turned out I had an aptitude. At the time they were short agents, after the Cuba disaster, and they recruited me as a field agent instead.” Will smiles wryly, seeing understanding mirrored in Ethan’s gaze. “I never looked back, not until Croatia.”

Ethan’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “You’re one of old Cooper’s?”

 “That I am.” Will says, dry as dust. “I know I don’t look it. Her favourites were always those of us who looked plain enough to pass as unremarkable. She’d have hated you.”

Ethan snorts. “We met once… we didn’t get along. She was cursed good as a combat instructor though and I can respect that.”

“She certainly saved my life a couple of times,” Will agrees, trying not to let Ethan’s gaze unnerve him. Being the centre of attention of a man as focused as Ethan Hunt is about as relaxing as a stroll through an active warzone.

“And yet you won’t return to the field.”

Will sighs, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets. “I didn’t say that. I have every intention of being out in the field again once we’ve sorted out the mess here.” His smile is only a little lop-sided this time. “You were fool enough to want me on your team, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

Ethan continues to study him for a moment longer, then nods brusquely. “You better, or I’ll send Benji up here to kick your ass.”

Will grins, raising his hand in surrender. “No need for drastic measures. I’ve got enough problems already without a sore bum added to the list.”

When Ethan offers him his hand for a solemn shake, Will doesn’t hesitate to take it.

-

Benji calls him three days later, sounding both worried and a bit like a kicked puppy, and Will has to grit his teeth to avoid letting any of his own disappointment in himself spill.

“Ethan said you’ve quit the team? It wasn’t anything we did, was it?”

Typical Ethan, giving bare facts without any of the reasons.

“No, Benji, it wasn’t anything you did. They just need me in Washington. Command has been a mess since Russia.”

Benji, having only become a field agent a little while ago, knows a little more about the demands the IMF command structure and headquarters faced on a daily basis than Ethan, but not that much because the techies tend to keep to themselves and not involve themselves in the politics that are now causing most of Will’s headaches.

“Unh unh,” Benji agrees, already sounding cheered. “So they haven’t chained you to a desk to force you to keep working as an analyst, or anything?”

Will swallows a laugh. “No, no chains anywhere to be seen. Besides it’s only supposed to be temporary. Did Ethan not tell you any of this?”

Will can hear Benji’s eyeroll in his next words. “You know Ethan, he just told me to expect our next mission to be without you and then hung up.” He can perfectly picture Benji’s grin when the other adds, “I think he misses you.”

Ethan Hunt? Not fucking likely.

“And _I_ think you need your head examined, Benji,” he returns sweetly, glad to hear his friend’s corresponding laugh. “Anyway, I already promised Ethan that I’ll re-join the team as soon as HQ is all sorted out. I’d say I hope that’ll be soon, but it involves politicians and the usual pissing contest as to who gets what position so I very much doubt it.”

“That’s tough, man,” Benji says sympathetically. “I’ll make sure to send you postcards from wherever we end up.”

“Thank you, Benji, that’s very kind,” Will murmurs dryly. “Just look after yourself and Ethan, all right? I’d like there to be a team to get back to once this circus show is over.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Benji says, sounding like he’s only half joking. “Make sure you don’t suffocate under paperwork, Will.”

“Very funny. Oh, did I mention that I’d be taking over mission control for the time being? Someone has to at least try to get you two to adhere to protocol and _I_ know all your usual tricks to get out of it.”

Benji’s forlorn sigh is enough to cheer up anyone’s spirits.

-

He’s about the send his team on an extremely sensitive mission in Belarus and his gut is churning uncomfortably at the thought. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Ethan and Benji to complete the mission – they always do, one way or another – but he really can’t afford another high profile clusterfuck right now, not with Hunley watching their every step. Will has been high-strung for weeks now and a small, honest part of him wonders how much longer he can keep it up.

None of that is visible when he calls Ethan to HQ for an extra debrief. The other man arrives with a frown – justified, considering that agents usually get their orders via self-destructing messages only, but Will didn’t ask him here to talk about mission specifics.

“Look, Ethan, IMF is pretty shaken up right now. Hells, we still haven’t got a new Secretary and it’s been months. _And_ I’ve got Hunley breathing down my neck with no way of getting rid of him and that isn’t getting any less stressful.” He rubs at his eyes, a futile attempt to battle the brewing headache behind his eyeballs. “The hearing will be soon.”

Ethan’s gaze is sharp when he asks, “You think they’ll actually disband the IMF?”

Will sees the tension in his frame and chooses his words carefully. “I don’t know, but the way things are looking right now I really can’t rule it out.” He sighs, meeting Ethan’s eyes wearily. Usually he tries not to show when he’s tired, but it’s been a long few weeks and he trusts Ethan, surprisingly enough. “Just, try to keep the explosions to a minimum, okay?”

“Bossy,” Ethan murmurs. At Brandt’s pinched expression and glare that says ‘for fuck’s sake, Ethan, take this seriously’ more eloquently than words (and is used regretfully often), he adds, “Relax, Brandt. We’ll be quiet about it, and anyway, we have you to yell at us from mission control, don’t we?”

They do, not that it ever seems to help much.

-

Twelve hours later, when Luther informs him that he’s hacked a Russian satellite without authorisation, Ethan is hanging off the side of a rapidly rising A400 Airbus, and Benji completely fails to understand the basic concept of what constitutes a door as opposed to, say, a _loading ramp_ , Will wonders why he even bothered trying.

Quiet missions just aren’t in the cards where Ethan Hunt is concerned.


End file.
